


Life and How To Live It

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Animalistic, Bugs & Insects, Drugging, Dubious Consent, Egg Laying, Existential Crisis, Kidnapping, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mortality, Oviposition, Pregnancy, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:19:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1879599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bumblebee discovers the fear of death and Waspinator discovers peace of mind. Then, they discover each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life and How To Live It

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very, very old fic I realized was finished and decided to post, although it hasn't been edited since being completed so there will likely be some mistakes and clunky phrasing. My apologies beforehand. On top of that, this has some VERY uncomfortable parts, PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS.   
> Otherwise, enjoy!

After the monotony of peace, you’d think he would welcome a distraction. Standing guard on Earth had to be one of the dullest ways to live out your fame, ever. Megatron’s capture had meant everything to the adoring throngs of Cybertronian’s back home, and had done wonders for all their lacking reputations, but here he was, stellar cycles later, back on this dumb rock.

Certainly it would not be said he hadn’t enjoyed his fair taste of fame. In fact, this was only the first actual ‘year’ since then he had spent away from the capitol. But, as anyone who has ever had to deal with the culture-shock of moving from the city to a small town can tell you, the sudden lack of commotion, while originally refreshing, quickly slid into the doldrums.

Bumblebee felt that staleness more acutely than most. The worst thing about it was that it hadn’t been a slow, gradual feeling. It had been more like an overnight realization, like waking up one morning and finding that something left out too long had rotted.

Perhaps that sounded a bit overdramatic, but if there was one word in the entire cosmos that best described Bumblebee, that would be the second or third option after ‘obnoxious’ and ‘loud’.

So he had taken to going a bit off course during his patrols. Which eventually turned into a lot off course. No one could really blame him for it; in part because, regardless of his actual standing with the Elite Guard, he still held a sort of awe for the newcomers on Earth and they couldn’t really blame him for anything, and in part because they were all a little antsy. Really, he and his original team had never much explored the planet they’d crashed on outside the Detroit area. So when Bumblebee was gone for a day, maybe three, without checking in, it was just assumed he had driven off down some highway and, annoying as it may be, it couldn’t be helped.

This is why when things went wrong, they went very, very wrong.   

 

* * *

 

“Bumblebot took Wasp’s life, so now Waspinator take Bumblebot’s.” Bumblebee pulled an expression of righteous anger, mostly to hide the fact that he was involuntarily pressing himself further and further into the wall behind him.

“So, what, now you’ll be a murderer on top of everything else? Boy, I sure misjudged you.” He rolled his optics dramatically, subtly rubbing his wrist as he again attempted to call forth his stingers. Waspinator snarled.

“I thought you wanted to prove yourself innocent! Sheesh, shoulda gone for it when you had the chance.” He could tell he was only goading the bot, but Bumblebee couldn’t stop himself from adding, “now you’re just gonna go the full circuit?”

Waspinator lunged, claws just barely missing Bumblebee’s helm as they lodged deep in the cave walls. Unable to duck and unwilling to get any closer to that stinger, he took the desperate route and launched himself up at Waspinator’s face, reaching around those split mandibles for the optics.

Faster than Bumblebee could even register, the two vestigial claws were curled around his wrists, and he was lifted into the air, kicking and screaming. Waspinator pinned Bumblebee’s arms back down against his sides, dislodging his own forearms from the wall to encircle his waist. Leaning in very close, he breathed in through mesh lungs, fibrous hairs standing on end as he smelled the bot deeply, new organic senses alive and bright in his processor.

“Waspinator not kill Bumblebot. But Bumblebot’s life still Waspinator’s.” Chittering loudly, he parted his jaws wide and swirled his immense tongue around Bumblebee’s helm. “Bumblebot make up for doing The Bad Thing. Bumblebot make good for Waspinator.”

Spluttering and jerking in his grasp, Bumblebee baulked.

“Sto- hey! Stop it! Wasp!” his struggles were ineffective, legs too short to even kick against the proud fluff encircling Waspinator’s throat.

Waspinator leaned closer still, until their helms were pressed together and Bumblebee could see his own reflection times a thousand, reflected back at him from the compound gaze of his captor.

“Waspinator never stop.”

Blackarachnia was not kind. Waspinator had figured that out long before the explosive transwarp accident, but regardless it surprised him how quickly she turned her back on him. It shouldn’t have, but it did. Truly, she saw him as nothing but a failed experiment, and before that simply an experiment. This made Waspinator very angry, but he wasn’t sure if it was at her or at himself for trusting her in the first place.

He wasn’t sure of much anymore.

Muddled and hurting, vengeful on his best days, Waspinator had traveled alone for a long time, though how long, he couldn’t tell. At first he starved, until one of his increasingly frequent animalistic fits took over and he found himself ingesting organic matter. And quite liking it.

It had started with oddly colored, pendulous orbs that hung from a group of unusually orderly trees he had found. The mixture of the organic coolness and the straight, clean lines they were planted in somehow drew him. Unfortunately there were other organics there, the loud, machine-like ones he had seen before, building their tall hives to look almost like a real city. Still skittish, he avoided them.

In doing so he inadvertently found his next source of nutrition. Large, deep voiced beasts, moving about together warily as he observed from above. They were slow and stupid, able to understand their situation enough to fear him but not enough to force their way from the flimsy wooden casing they were kept in. He found them easiest to pick off one at a time, by air.

When he first bit into living tissue, he expected to be repulsed by its bizarre cellular wetness. Nothing could be further from the truth. The crunch of flesh between his dental grill, heat slowly ebbing from the hunk of animal beneath his claws; it all felt inexplicably right. He buried his face in the carcass and ate his fill.

The other benefit of these creatures was that there was a great abundance of them in the clean open fields, stretching further than even Waspinator could see. An instinct, one he was unable to classify but followed without objection, told him to track the pattern of beige squares across the landscape as he consumed, day by day. If he preyed on them too swiftly, in too concentrated an area, it would draw attention as well as possibly destroying any chance he had to revisit the area for shelter, should the need arise.

So he traveled.

 

* * *

 

 Holding Bumblebee down, Waspinator pressed his secondary limbs over his torso, snuffling softly as he investigated. Bumblebee himself was blathering in high tones, doing his very best to at least make whatever his captor was doing more difficult for him, but failing rather spectacularly.

Waspinator touched the softer mesh of his belly, poking and prodding uncomfortably. Bumblebee twisted around and bit Waspinator’s wrist as it adjusted its grip on his hands. His teeth were flat, with little more edge than a butter knife, and Waspinator’s tough hide hardly picked up the sensation. Still, Bumblebee snarled, tugging meanly against it until little metallic flakes began to drop into his mouth, tasting sour and nutty.

Then, Waspinator was rising, not releasing Bumblebee but pulling his rear end upward until his back legs were almost at their fullest height.

“What, giving up?” Bumblebee’s words carried a meaner variety of his usual sarcasm, and as Waspinator peeled his mandibles back to expel a violent, wet sound, possibly a laugh, he wanted very much to punch himself in the face.

The chittering, crackling insectine noises that constantly emanated from Waspinator’s vocalizer increased in their frequency, deepening and lengthening until the low tones vibrated through both their frames. His metasoma, thick and striped, curled between his legs and Bumblebee had just enough sense in him to begin panicking. The stinger protruding from the end was slowly approaching his gut, twitching a bit as Waspinator focused on lining it up with the spot he’d been drawn to before.

“Okay, Wasp, Waspinator, buddy, aren’t we taking this a bit too seriously?” he arched, trying to pull his stomach away as the spine drew closer. “We’ve already been over how sorry I am, and I really, really meant it, still mean it, I mean…”

“Waspinator not want Bumblebot to be sorry. Waspinator want Bumblebot to make up.” Waspinator’s voice was oddly calm, for all its monstrous roughness. He moved a foot in to curl around Bumblebees right calf, holding him steady.

He stung.

Bumblebee shrieked, entire body locking up as his circuits were immediately taken by an incredible burning. The stinger went deep, piercing past layers of thin mesh and coiled wiring, inside his lower body where a venom began to seep. Thoughts vibrated frantically inside his brain casing, and though he tried to collect them he found himself quite unable. It was all he could do to stare up at the whirl of green and grey above him and continue to cycle air through his systems. His mouth hung open dumbly, a drip of oral solvent escaping down his chin.

Waspinator relaxed, feeling the small body beneath him quieten. It felt unusually good to have his stinger lodged in someone’s guts, to feel the machinery, alive and warm, twitching around it. A thick arousal bloomed beneath his plating, which he tried to ignore, a small, saner part of him still decent enough to make him ashamed.

Truly, though, this whole affair was, in some ways, about what was under their panels.

When he was finally sure that he had irrigated Bumblebee’s piping with enough of his toxin, he slowly, gently, withdrew. Bumblebee remained immobile, but began to hiss short, sharp gasps of pain. The stinger dragged its way to fresh air, leaving behind a small trail of liquid that instantly cauterized the wound, translucent and glistening. He had not stabbed so deeply as to seriously harm the bot. though certainly painful, it was nothing Bumblebee’s own automatic repair system couldn’t handle.

Fully releasing him, Waspinator sat back on the hard rock, catching his own breath as the adrenaline rush died down. His circuits were firing rapidly, electrical energy crawling pleasantly over his synthetic carapace.

The venom and resulting trauma was lulling Bumblebee into a forced recharge. Waspinator felt the Cybertronian side of him soften as he watched, though whether it was from fondness or remorse, there was no telling.   

Crawling over, he lifted Bumblebee’s inert form and tucked it safely between his secondary arms. The cave had served its purpose, but others may be looking for their comrade soon, and it was far too damp to be comfortable anyhow. The sun was setting over the hills, bathing the entire valley below them a rich orange. Waspinator took to the air, more excited than he had been for longer than he could remember. Already, he knew, the puncture in Bumblebee’s stomach would be beginning to patch, gestation tank reformatting as the venom spread, sparking new connections, preparing him.

He laughed to himself, almost unaware of it, as he cut though the sky with ease, stirring thick wheels in the cloud layer around him and moving on to better things.

 

* * *

 

One stellar cycle and eight Earth months after his re-stationing in Detroit and Bumblebee was about ready to blow a fuse. The new cadet’s awe for him and his supposed prowess had been fun at first, but it died quickly. There was no denying the fact that he had loved his time on Earth, and continued to love it, but it was not the planet itself he had been touched by. Sari was on Cybertron, and had been for a long time, discovering more about herself. True, she visited from time to time, but those excursions were generally spent with her father and she did not appreciate the third wheel.

“We spent the last four years together!” she exclaimed, stressing the word ‘years’ as if it hurt to speak. Bumblebee, of course, threw one of his usual fits. Four years, four years, the blink of an eye! And he was so bored!  It took ten full minutes of Sari’s placating to calm him, and even then he had really mostly left because, quite frankly, she was freaking him out.

Humans aged quickly. Sari wasn’t totally a human, of course, but in the first three years he had known her she had shown what the bots under Optimus Prime had considered an unprecedented amount of growth, emotionally and otherwise. It was highly likely, after having discovered her true potential, that she was not going to age, at least physically, any more for a long, long while, but she still perceived time through the system and culture she’d been created in, and it showed. Her dramatic increase in maturity during her self-performed upgrade had definitely not helped. 

Honestly, it frightened Bumblebee. He had never considered, in the way he realized the others must have, the possibility of outliving a comrade. Generally speaking, he was millions of years away from reaching the point where this would become relevant. He was not from a time of war, had never expected to actually even witness a greying.

Prowl had been… an exception, of course, but those circumstances were extreme and unnatural and Bumblebee refused to consider the fact that really it could have been anyone because to him there was no one else capable.

The recent levelness, the way she held herself, the way that sometimes when Bumblebee was doing something incredibly stupid she would smile at him with knit brows and tell him ‘no’. Every interaction with her environment seemed, while fundamentally the same, subtly altered.

He looked at Sari sometimes and realized that there would be a day, not soon, but eventually, when she would die.

It scared him the same way it had when he had been helping her father move boxes several months ago, and the little human had found one too heavy, and at first it had been funny but he had realized, laughter waning, that Isaac was actually in pain as he held one hand to his back and-

That was not something he wanted to think about now. That was not something he wanted to think about ever again. He wrote himself an internal memo to remind himself not to think of it and filed it away (a pointless endeavor; it would evoke the image of those tired eyes every time he read it. Three solar cycles later it would be deleted). The sun was at high noon and the roads were hot. Spring had come early and summer was nipping at its heels.

The feeling of the tarmac beneath his wheels was the greatest thing in the entire world. The ping of his shift clock had sounded thirty eight point five kliks earlier, and he had no intentions of returning to base. Not yet. Not while the sky was clear and there were brighter lights and bigger cities out there, bursting with life and action.

By the time it was one in the afternoon, he had decided, resolutely, that he was not returning to the base at all, that night at least. He had decided this, resolutely, approximately forty three Earth minutes outside of Detroit, doing one hundred sixteen on the highway.

There was nothing to do there anyways.

 

* * *

 

Over the course of eight solar cycles, Waspinator had built a nest. It was inside a cave, small enough to be safe and concealed but large enough to be comfortable, on the side of a mountain about three hundred miles south of where he had picked up his prize. It had not been a predetermined destination, simply fortuitous circumstance, although he had been searching, quite actively, during the last hundred or so miles of their trek.

It was dry and remote, both pluses for multiple reasons. Course trees and straight-drop cliffs blocked the path of any human on foot, and covered the entrance from prying eyes above. Quiet, safe, and in good proximity to varied sources of nourishment for them both. There was a series of small towns about thirty kliks of flying time down the mountain, providing both a large variety of fat, slow animals and the motor oil Bumblebee’s fuel tanks had been modified to accept. This would normally have still been incredibly difficult for Waspinator to obtain, now that he possessed neither the advantage of size nor disguise, but one of the towns had a small lot behind the large, sharp building towering above it, filled with barrels of the stuff. They were kept behind a tall fence, but otherwise were unguarded, and held no challenge for him.

Another of the towns had an unusual but serendipitous feature: an enormous reservoir containing nothing but the crude. It was not open to the outside air, but the smell was so powerful it had nearly knocked Waspinator out of the sky. This was slightly harder to procure because he had been able to find no discernable lid to the container, but after much careful snooping and sniffing he had discovered where thick pipes attached to the drum and sunk into the Earth. The pipes were thinner than the reservoir walls, and would be easy to tap once he had the materials and calmness of mind to devise a way.

Naturally, this was all information he had gathered after depositing his load. Bumblebee had remained in stasis the entirety of their trip, not even disturbed by the change in barometric pressure as they ascended from the low lake land of Ohio to the mountains of the south west. It was how it should be. The awakening of his reproductive system, dormant so long Bumblebee was probably not aware he possessed it, was a short but arduous process, made worse by the violent way in which it had been done.

This state of rest would of course not last, and two days later Bumblebee would online his optics, grasping the semi-sealed hole in his abdomen, garble out a few trembling questions before rolling over and purging what was left in his tanks all over the freshly woven floor.

But right now, Waspinator was tired, and beginning to grow nervous as they lost daylight. Once assured his quarry would not wake, he had left him, curled, as if in peace, at the back of the cave, and began to scout the surrounding area. Everything had to be perfect. Otherwise, there was the possibility of failure, and that was something he could not stand to endure again.

 

* * *

 

Bumblebee had once heard, during has time as a nameless on Cybertron, that there was a way beyond the Allspark to create new life. This just seemed like nonsense then, so he had largely ignored it. All life was from Primus, through His holy gift, and no other way was feasible.

He had forgotten all about it until one day when he and the others had all cornered Optimus, trying to get him to tell them about Sari’s explanation for human and other organic life on this planet. He had been so embarrassed. Bumblebee was mostly just prodding because it was hilarious to see the big guy squirm like that. Everyone’s voice reached a crescendo and Optimus had thrown out his hands, “Fine! Fine!” and then they had all been treated to the most uncomfortable explanation of human interface they could possibly imagine.

So that had been weird, and they all felt a little dirty afterwards, realizing that these little beings were too capable of intimacy. But when the night had fallen and Bumblebee was reclined on his makeshift recharge slab, it was the thought of procreation that engulfed his processor. Not only because it meant life could be created in other ways, but because it reminded him of the whispers from his younger days and now the thought was one he could not shake.

He kept it inside, for a while, because he knew he would never live it down if this really was just somebody’s stupid idea of a prank and he would just end up looking like an idiot for asking. Six days into the next week, though, came one of those annoying cycles where Optimus and Prowl were out on patrol, Bulkhead was off with Sari, and while Bumblebee also wanted to be off with Sari he couldn’t be, because he had to stay at the base and watch the monitors, dull as can be. With Ratchet.

Under normal circumstances this would have felt like a punishment, but he had been bursting his circuits all week, and now this was just a perfect opportunity. No one but Ratchet around, and he was above telling the others if Bumblebee made a dumb mistake. Probably.

It took about five minutes of Bumblebee inching his seat closer, twiddling his thumbs conspicuously, for Ratchet to snap.

“What are you playin’ at?” Startled, Bumblebee automatically went into panic mode.

“N-nothing! Nothing! Just checkin' the monitors! Boy these are sure…checkable…” it was so pathetic. Ratchet didn’t even dignify him with a response, instead just looking at him with a face like a burnt out motherboard.

Bumblebee squirmed.

“Okay I’m just asking this because I heard it once and it’s probably really stupid like I know it’s really stupid so don’t think I’m being totally serious even though I kind am but I’m not I just really really really wanna know if there’s actually a way besides he Allspark that Cybertronian’s get protoformed?” He clasped his hands on his lap, smiling wide, with just a hint of mania, and blinking innocently.

Ratchet was, for once, mildly stunned.

“Where did you hear that?” It wasn’t accusatory, so Bumblebee relaxed a little.

“I dunno. Somebot said it once when I was a newspark.”

Turning the thoughts over in his mind, Ratchet sighed, pushing his chair away from the console and turning to face Bumblebee head on. He looked so serious that the room seemed to drop in temperature.

“There was, once,” he started, slowly, as if trying very hard to find the right words, “but not anymore. At one time, long, long ago, bots could choose to reproduce when they wanted. But Cybertron reached max capacity and Primus took that gift away.”

Totally engrossed, Bumblebee scooted forward in his seat.

“Why? And how?”

Ratchet sighed

“Too many bots. Didn’t want us overusing our resources. Word is, though, -and don’t go believing this just because I said it, because it’s only a rumor- bots on the colony worlds can still do it. They’re outside of Primus’s reach.”

“They’re engaging in sin?” this was almost too much. Ratchet’s expression softened.

“It’s not their fault. Most of those worlds haven’t had contact with Cybertron since before the second Great War.”

The conversation seemed to be coming to a close, with Ratchet turning his chair to face the console again, so Bumblebee threw in one last desperate question.

“How did they do it?”

Without turning to face him, Ratchet said, “it’s not important, kid. It was before my time anyhow.”

Bumblebee could tell he was holding back, but something about Ratchet’s tone was so unsettling that he too returned his attention to the monitor.

   

* * *

 

He woke and thought he was on another planet. The walls, the ceiling, and floor were all covered in a thick, waxy substance, shaped and pressed into crooked geometric patterns. Everything around and under him was soft, the air a queer lukewarm, smelling sweet and bitter all at once.

The first few times he floated into consciousness were a blur in his memory banks. Illness, pain, Waspinator holding him half upright and pushing barrels of oil at him. Tanks were too low, he drank without question.

This time when he awoke the world seemed suddenly easy to understand, colors and shapes bleeding together into a truly tangible form. Bumblebee felt stiff and weak. Whatever Waspinator had done to him, it wasn’t going away any time soon.

Waspinator wasn’t even there. His internal chronometer was fritzing out, and with a shock of panic Bumblebee realized he had no idea how long he’d been in stasis lock. Days, weeks, oh Primus this was not good.

He tried to stand, doubling over with a shout as a sudden pain lanced up from his lower torso. Right, the stinger. If Bumblebee was a tank-half-full type, he would have considered how lucky he was that the venom wasn't fatal, or some kind of virus that would reroute his entire system until he was a mindless drone.

Bumblebee was most definitely not that type. He scrabbled blunt servos against the floor, pushing and kicking and crawling until he was at the entrance, trying not to hyperventilate as he considered all the horrible things that could happen between now and the door. Freedom was just a few feet away, he could make it, he could…

Nothing was ever that easy. Reaching the ledge, he shielded his optics as they recalibrated. He hadn’t truly taken time to notice the various warnings on his meta, but now that he was outside his physical condition suddenly became painfully important. It was bright, and hot. Terribly, swelteringly hot. Every sensor in his system seemed to pause in its work for a minute and soak in the sun, in awe.

When his vision finally cleared, Bumblebee couldn’t help but let out a long, shaking groan of dismay. The cliff beneath the ledge he was perched on was at least three hundred feet, with nothing soft at the bottom. In the state he was in he couldn’t manage to stand, much less climb down. But if he didn’t try now, would there be a chance to later?

He wasn’t given much time to make up his mind. There was only a split second between the time his audio receptors picked up on a faint buzzing and Waspinator crashing into the ledge beneath him. One moment he was looking down at what was possibly going to be his rocky doom, the next he was face to face with a monster.

Mustering ever last drop of energon in his body, Bumblebee fairly threw himself backwards into the cave. Waspinator was fast though, faster than an injured and disoriented bot, and before Bumblebee could even push himself upright the other was crawling over him, blocking out all light but that from his glowing optics.

“Bumblebot trying to leave?” There was nothing he could do, no way he could defend himself.

“I don’t know what you’re planning here, but you can’t keep me like this!”

Waspinator chirped, dropping his long neck low until his face was next to Bumblebee’s. Then on Bumblebee’s. He was nuzzling him, a deep, gravely thrumming coming from inside his throat. Once the shock had worn off, Bumblebee raised a fist and smacked him upside the head.

“Get offa me! What the slag are you doing!?” His punches were completely ineffectually, and likely would have been even if he was at his peak strength. One of Waspinator’s enormous claws wrapped around his middle, carefully avoiding the puncture and simply holding him still.

“Waspinator hate Bumblebot. But Waspinator need Bumblebot to make up for mistake.” His long tongue slithered out from between his teeth, curling under Bumblebee’s chin and around the other side of his helm in a long, hot lick. Bumblebee thrashed against him.

“You-you haven’t even told me what you want! Why are we here? Where are we?!” Refusing to quit his purring, Waspinator did at least manage to pull away slightly and face him.

“Bumblebot not feel different?” Bumblebee frowned. Well, that was a stupid question. He was hot and tired and in pain and terrified out of his mind. Of course he felt different.

“Are you fragging insane!?” He hesitated, then brought one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nasal ridge, optics shuttering.

“Never mind. Of course you are.” 

One of Waspinator’s claws around his middle was stroking against him gently. He found himself relaxing into it. After everything that had happened, the heat and the pain and the loneliness and the glitched out bug kidnapping him, why even bother? He lay back against the floor, looking down his chest at the green thorax above him, pulsing with organic breath.

“Waspinator can smell it working…Bumblebot is different. Here.” He pressed a small secondary hand over the bowl of Bumblebee’s pelvic span, directly beneath the wound. Bumblebee stiffened. That was far too close to his interface array. But Waspinator did not move to hurt him, instead opting to rub his stomach affectionately, administering a soft, flat pressure every so often.

His entire body was shifting around, crouching, pushing closer until he caged Bumblebee within his limbs. The additional heat pouring off Waspinator’s fuzz made him dizzy, wrists falling limply by his head.

“I’m not different,” he said, lulled by the tender touching. A cloudy warmth seemed to be spreading up from where Waspinator touched, crawling into his processor and dulling the world around him.

“Bumblebot is getting ready for eggs.”

Eggs. Those were that food Sari had sometimes in the morning, right? Little round white things. Yellow inside. Why would he want eggs? His optics felt like they were rolling without his control, the cave was spinning.

Waspinator pressed his face up to Bumblebee’s again.

“Many, many eggs…” he kept rubbing that spot on Bumblebee’s stomach, over and over again. Something inside him felt like it was churning, but not unpleasantly. Stirring.

“You’re a criminal,” he whispered, reaching up to paw blindly at the side of Waspinator’s face. “But you’ve been pardoned. Why do you keep…doing this?” unable to figure out what to be doing with his hands, he let the raised one grasp one of the tall antenna. It was smooth and hard, a similar scaly alloy to the one on his carapace.

“Wasp was criminal. Waspinator is not Wasp.”

Suddenly he was uncomfortable. Waspinator was too close and it felt like he was burning up.

“Get offa me.” He crossed his arms over his chest, rolling onto his side. Waspinator could have easily kept him down, but didn’t, watching him intently. Bumblebee averted his optics, almost pouting, and Waspinator finally moved off. Bumblebee poked the soft ground with a finger, trying to clear his head.

“What is this stuff anyways?”

Waspinator was over at the mouth of the cave, pulling in another oil barrel. He must have been carrying it with him when he had first returned. He fluttered his wings at Bumblebee's question, blowing a bit of fresh air back into the cave.

“Hive.”

“Hive?” bumblebee rolled fully onto his stomach, mind slowly focusing.

“Hive.”

Clearly he wasn’t going to get a straight answer. He dug his finger in a bit. It was malleable, bouncy almost, but not to the point of being liquid. Which was good because that would be disgusting. He pulled a face, and was about to comment further, when something finally struck him.

“Eggs?”

Waspinator set the barrel down heavily beside him and he started, instantly regretting it as the pain in his abdomen made itself known again. Waspinator brushed a claw down his back, but pulled away quickly when Bumblebee glared at him.

“Eggs are how Bumblebot will make up to Waspinator. Waspinator wants eggs for a long time now.”

“That’s stupid,” Bumblebee managed to push himself up onto his knees, sitting with a slight hunch but otherwise doing his best to look as angry as he was beginning to get. “How do you even make eggs? Why, I mean, what?”

Waspinator ripped the top off the oil barrel.

“Not until Bumblebot is healthy.”

“I’d be completely healthy if you’d never dragged me out here in the first place!” Waspinator snarled, gripping the edge of the barrel and easily denting it inward. Little black drops splashed out the top. Bumblebee flinched, but his expression softened.

“I know you’re confused. I mean, hey I’d be too if I got turned into a bug.” That was a stupid thing to say. Waspinator didn’t outwardly react but Bumblebee was mentally punching himself anyways. “Okay I’m just saying that it doesn’t have to be this way. We can take you back to-to the Autobots. Optimus would vouch for you, I would too, and we could get you fixed maybe-“ Waspinator growled lowly, “-or not! You could stay exactly the same if that’s what you want! No one would make you do anything! Or throw you back in the stockades.”

Grabbing a small piece of bowl shaped metal from the ground by the other barrels, Waspinator dipped it into the oil.

“Wasp was weak. Waspinator strong. Bots hurt Wasp, lots of bots. No one hurts Waspinator. And Waspinator has a purpose. Waspinator has plans.” He handed the makeshift bowl to Bumblebee, who accepted it nervously but didn’t drink.

“What kind of plans?”

Waspinator’s optics narrowed. He moved to crouch behind Bumblebee, supporting his back better. A small arm wrapped around his front and gripped his wrist, forcing the bowl his Bumblebee’s lips. Feeling the warm pulse of Waspinator’s spark behind him, and the waves of unnatural energy rolling off it, was enough to make Bumblebee complacent, and he took a small sip, swallowing thickly. Waspinator pushed it against him again, releasing him only when he drained the dish.

Bumblebee though he might have forgotten the question, but as he tried to pull away strong arms gripped him tightly, pulling him backwards until he was haphazardly placed in Waspinator’s lap. The technorganic was purring again, and Bumblebee didn’t dare move.

“Plans for this,” Waspinator hummed, one hand stroking his gut. “Plans for eggs. Hive.”

Fear, dark and strong, bubbled up in Bumblebee’s throat.

“What did you do to me?”

   

* * *

 

Bumblebee loved the heat of Earth. Cybertron was a cold planet, though the temperature seemed normal to those from it, and most of the Autobots found the wildly varied climates of their new home unpleasant a best. Prowl had claimed to understand, and probably did to a fault, but even he could be seen grimacing when the sun beat down at its peak.

Bulkhead, unfortunately, had no real excuse to avoid accompanying Bumblebee outside on some of the warmer days (though really, it was still Detroit). Therefore he was also the bot who bore the burden of taking Bumblebee outside during his rowdier moods, though his systems suffered the heat worse than the others. It was on days like that that Bumblebee had expressed his love of the world’s close and young star in the only way he knew how: constant and largely unintelligible chatter. He liked the way it shone on his armor. He liked the way it made the roads soft and rubbery. He especially liked the way it relaxed the other bots, processors keeping them mellow and lethargic to keep from working overtime and thusly overheating.

He also liked the way the heat reminded him of the feeling of an incredible post-overload daze, bright and fuzzy, but he kept that to himself.

It was April when he first departed from the new Autobase, but it felt like June. Even though he was heading west, temperatures were at an all-time high, summer in spring. Heat waves crawled across the highway, like transparent waves of snakes wound together. The only wind was hot and slow, and Bumblebee loved it.

As he had left on a whim, he didn’t have time or mind to pack reserve fuel, but that was a moot issue at this point. Shortly after the capture of Megatron, when the first crew of semi-permanent watchbots had been stationed on Earth, Sumdac Systems had charitably installed credit scanners into the Autobot’s vehicular exteriors, connected directly to a fund held by the company and set to be accepted at any major gas station. Payment for a job well done. He remembered crowding around Bulkhead’s homemade monitor with his friends in Iacon, watching the fuzzy feed of Optimus receiving the first implant.

Finally, a gas station rose above the miles upon miles of corn. One he could use, too. There was only one other car at the pump, and two around the back, probably belonging to the employees. Everything was dusty and unassuming, so he figured it would be easy to slide through unnoticed. Having never felt it necessary to develop a holographic program as Prowl had, keeping a low radar was sometimes difficult.

There were two pumps, and by some benevolent act of providence the other car was at the one closest to the door. He pulled up slowly, trying to muffle the purr of his engine as he slid smoothly into place by the nozzle. With a bit of nonchalant smugness, he noticed the idiot who owned the other car had left the keys in the ignition, engine still working away. While that kind of operation didn’t apply to Cybertronian’s, he’d been on Earth long enough to know its importance here. Shutting down some of his secondary fuel consumptive functions, he popped his tank cap.

 Then came the hard part.

Discretion was not a talent Bumblebee possessed, and he was well aware of it. Slowly, carefully, he spun his transformation cog and transformed one of his arms. His optical feed never leaving the storefront, he gingerly reached for the pump. Spark’s sake, he probably looked like an idiot; nervously vibrating where he parked, one seemingly disproportionate arm feeling about the pump head blindly.

When he first heard the scream, he assumed he’d been caught. Not that he wouldn’t be able to easily explain this, but it was an awkward situation to be found in and, more frustratingly, it meant he was going to have to deal with the potential case of his Autobot comrades tracking him. Which was a little stupid in the first place, because the Sumdac Systems payment would have been easily traceable anyway.

He sucked his arm back along his side paneling, fully transforming to vehicle mode again with the hopes that maybe he could just drive away and pretend it ever happened, but the screaming hadn’t stopped. Only now it was also accompanied by shouting. It was coming from inside the store, but he couldn’t quite see that far.

Transforming again, this time to his root form, he crouched behind the pump, peeking out around the side. There was a man in the store, supposedly the owner of the other vehicle, and two store employees, an older man and a young woman, both of whom had their hands in the air. The man in the store with them was gesticulating wildly, and he was holding a gun. A real one too, not like the laser models used in Detroit. Cold, metal, messy. Bumblebee recognized it from various televisual conquests he’d made over the years.

The female store worker had emptied the cash register on the counter, but the armed man was apparently not satisfied. Bumblebee had seen no other cars for the past two hours, apart from a cross country shipping vehicle and a burnt out shell by the side of the road that had to have been at least two years old (Bumblebee had acclimated faster to the common sight of such carnage on Earth faster than any of the other bots; Ratchet had often loudly wondered what that said about his personality core).

He was the only one around, probably the only person who would be around for a long time. There was no way the police would reach the gas station before the robber had finished his work and the trail had cooled. He watched as the man grabbed the male employee by the hair, yanking his head over the counter and reaching his arm, still brandishing the gun, over his head.

The glass shattered.

Even as he jumped through the window he had just broken, Bumblebee’s battle mask picked up and identified any potential threats before analyzing them and passing them over. His own face, reflected a thousand-fold on the flying glass, was beamed into his interior visual hub from every possible angle, worked over and dismissed before the vision could form a substantial presence in his processor. The man with the gun turned, as if in slow motion, first his eyes, then the sharp, manic jut of his chin.

Then everything sped up, Bumblebee expertly catching himself, skidding to a halt behind the criminal, stingers at the ready. All the humans screamed, the man behind the counter ducking down behind it. Before any of them could recover, he shocked the weapon out of the man’s hand, transforming one of his own and lunging to pin him to the counter.

It was all over in about thirty seconds. The glass skittered to the floor, twinkling, the gun arcing gracefully through the air before smacking the slushy machine, falling to the rubber mat floor with a dead thump. The thief had been pinned so quickly he was stunned, and for a few moments the room was entirely silent apart from the heavy, panicked breathing of the clerks. Then-

“Fuck! Oh fuckin’ shit!” the woman behind the counter had grabbed the phone, but didn’t dial, simply holding it to her chest and gaping. And swearing.

“Alright, uh, calm down, everything’s under control.” He wasn’t quite as good at using his authoritative voice as Optimus was. The woman kept shouting, and the man who’d ducked down did not make a reappearance. Bumblebee had the briefest flash pf conscience and worried that he’d hurt himself. The man in his hand was only sort of moving, head lolling about on his shoulders, possibly in shock.

Realizing he was losing control of the situation, Bumblebee looked about frantically for a quick solution, finally settling on the retractable belt tape that served as an adjustable line divider. Given that he was met with no resistance, tying the crook up shouldn’t have been difficult, but there are very few things in the world that made a job harder than being screamed at while doing it.

“Call the cops,” he said when he’d finished, trying to look as disarming as possible, holding his hands up, “he’s not going anywhere. Just, stop. Yelling. Stop yelling.” The woman did not stop yelling. Not knowing what else to do, he was going to attempt to speak again when an incredible bang silenced them both.

Bumblebee felt a distortion in the air beside his left thigh, turned towards the source, and was met with the unpleasant sight of the second store employee, the one he’d thought had succumbed to anxiety, crouched beside the soda dispenser with the thief’s gun clutched between his shaking paws. His face was so distorted by fear that it was quite possible the first shot had been accidental. However, when Bumblebee turned to face him, he managed to catch his second wind.

“I’m not afraid to shoot!” Exasperated, Bumblebee snorted dryly.

“I can see that.” He started to step backwards towards the shattered front of the store, hoping to avoid further confrontation and just get the slag out of the area before he’d have to deal with the local authorities, but the man jolted up into a hunched stand the second he moved.

“I mean it! I mean it, I do, I’ll shoot you!”

“Oh come on!” Bumblebee leaned forward, arms akimbo, unable to help himself. “I just saved your fleshy hides and you’re gonna point a gun at me! What the slag is wrong with everyone outside of Detroit! Haven’t you seen the news?” he banged one palm against his chest. “I’m an Autobot! Au-to-bot! You know, one of the good guys? World famous heroes? Honored on live TV by Isaac Sumdac himself?”

Tears were starting to leak from the man’s eyes.

“Don’t move! I said don’t move!” but Bumblebee was already in the parking lot halfway through his transformation sequence.

Several shots rang out behind him, punctuated by the continuous cursing of the female, but none of them met their mark and before anything else could go wrong Bumblebee was back on the highway.

What was his malfunction? These humans were all completely insane! He was speeding enough that it was impossible for him to not be attracting attention, but he didn’t care. It had been years on this dusty rock since he’d last had to play through that old song and dance, and he’d forgotten how sour a taste it produced. Even after all this time, humanity still didn’t recognize what was best for it, stuck in the same groove of fear and paranoia they’d always been.

The warm wind on the road was soothing, at least. Soothing enough to help him forget that he hadn’t actually gotten o fuel up. He continued west, letting the speed and the sun slowly melt away all thoughts of the foolish people he’d encountered, stuck in their own little worlds, unable to recognize their own inability to grow and change.  

Thank the Matrix he was blessed with such clarity.

 

* * *

 

Eggs, eggs. He knew there was something significant about the word, the object, something Prowl had blabbered on about one evening as they sat, bored, watching the sunset, some morning when Bumblebee was only half listening a he chased Sari around the park. Eggs were food; that much he knew, but Waspinator clearly didn’t want to eat him so that was unlikely to be the answer he was looking for.

Waspinator hadn’t left him alone since that first day he was awake, and it was driving him insane. Maybe it was the heat, or the sting. The hole had closed now, leaving an odd, gravelly silver as the nanites slowly, slowly built up the necessary alloys, but it still hurt sometimes, deep, solid pain that would roll over him in waves.

There were other odd sensations emanating from the area though, and the pain was honestly the least worrying of them. Heat, almost unbearable combined with the natural warmth of the area, would occasionally bloom from his pelvis to his torso, giving him an odd sense of vertigo that left him breathless and dizzy. The worst thing about it was that it wasn’t horrible. Normally he’d expect his tanks to be churning, unstable and weak, but the disorientation only left him with a sense of peace and weightlessness.

He lay there, watching the day turn to night through the little bit of the cave mouth he was permitted to view, wanting to focus on his escape but finding it harder each day. He no longer felt ill, but the lethargy remained. In brief moments of terrifying clarity he realized it was making him complacent, resigned to his fate, whatever that may be. When Waspinator would leave his puttering and come to rest, he found himself almost welcoming the sound of the pulsing, unnatural spark behind his helm as he was curled around, safe within a pile of limbs and fur.

On that end, the weirdness continued as well. There was nothing he could do to prevent it, so he just went limp whenever a stray hand (or tongue) found its way to his body and lingered. The hands were largely inoffensive, simply opting to massage. It was a bit uncomfortable, from a logical standpoint, particularly when they strayed lower, but time and time again he found himself not only allowing it but welcoming it, subtly arching into the touch or guiding it with a gentle twist of the hip or shoulder.

The tongue, on the other hand, was greatly unappreciated. There was still nothing he could do about it but whenever Waspinator got the thought in his buggy brain that his gentle petting sessions needed to become a taste testing Bumblebee had no qualms about vocalizing his distress. These were the times when things clarified, when he realized how much he was allowing to pass unquestioned.

It was where he was now, arms pinned despite his total stillness, positioned haphazardly on Waspinator’s lap. He was facing inward, so unfortunately the only thing he was able to really see or hear was the larger bot’s chest, stray bits of fuzz itching against his neck and tires. Waspinator’s stupidly long, prehensile tongue was currently wrapped around one of his horns, and he was holding still in a noble attempt to subdue his other and currently largest problem since the attack: uncomfortable, unwanted arousal.   

The problem largely stemmed from the fact that he didn’t notice it was even happening at first. The cuddling and licking was just annoying, in the beginning, and he would grumble and shift and bat away offending advances until he resigned himself to his fate and would sit in grouchy silence while Waspinator did whatever he wanted. Then he would realize with a slow horror that the heat spreading through him wasn’t purely from embarrassment or anger.

Hot, stagnant air, ripe with the scent of gasoline and something sweet and flowery, filled his ventilation system until his processor was swimming. Waspinator had him tight this time, both wrists held completely still while his tongue trailed from his horns down, around his neck. It was wet and warm and should have been absolutely disgusting, but the way it curled and flicked just gently enough was driving him insane.  

“I thought-I thought you hated me. I mean, this is- this isn’t how you treat someone you hate, what the, heh, what the slag is wrong with you.”

It was mostly nervous prattle, trying to disguise the way his engine had started to sputter, but Waspinator pulled back sharply, looking at him with an unreadable expression. Not that his expressions where ever very readable anymore, alien face as different to Bumblebee as any animal from this bizarre planet. Suddenly nervous he’d crossed some invisible line, Bumblebee shrunk down as much as possible in the tight hold, smiling in what he hoped was a disarming manner.

“I, uh…” Waspinator pulled Bumblebee closer to his chest, cutting him off.

“Waspinator does not hate Bumblebot, Waspinator need Bumblebot.”

Squirming a bit under the scrutiny of several thousand optics, Bumblebee mumbled, “for eggs, right?”

Waspinator purred deeply, secondary arms sliding down to encircle Bumblebee’s waist and caress is gently.

“And other things.”

It was highly distracting, the way those claws could dig into a seam just until you’d think it was going to hurt and then pulling away just as smoothly, tickling and tantalizing, but Bumblebee still had enough sense about him to recognize the implication and be mad about it.

“What, you- don’t think that just because I let you massage me that I’ll, I’ll do, that kind of thing I…” he yanked his wrists hard enough to surprise them both, Waspinator being fairly used to the smaller bot’s compliance. Not that he actually managed to get away, but they were both shocked by the strength in it. 

Cocking his head to the side, Waspinator growled thoughtfully.

“But Bumblebot wants.”

“I don’t want anything from you, except maybe getting your nasty fraggin’ hands off me!” Bumblebee’s vocalizations were beginning to come out distorted and trembling, unable to bear the weight of his emotion. Waspinator leaned in close to nuzzle the side of his head. Bumblebee tried to jerk away but couldn’t. More than anything, he wanted to just be back at the Autobase, bored, in his room, alone, waiting for the next nice boring patrol. He wanted his biggest concern to be when Sari’s next visit was, or if Bulkhead was going to have time to surprise him with a call on the communications monitor that evening.

He wanted Waspinator to be wrong.

There was no logic behind the feeling. He couldn’t deny, even to himself, the truth behind what the bug had said: he wanted Waspinator. He had wanted him since they came here, even in pain, even frightened, and he had no idea why. Layered deep inside that wanting, though, was confusion and fear and the same clouded misunderstanding he’d been cursed with since he had first awoken in this waxy cocoon.

Waspinator laid him back against the ground, carefully, as if not only to preserve his form but all the potential inside. Bumblebee turned his head away, shuttering his optics as he lay limp. Making sure not to crush him, Waspinator came down on top, until the firm coil of his waist met Bumblebee’s thighs.

“Bumblebot alone, outside of Autobot territory. Alone for solar cycles, no communications,” Waspinator drawled, so close to the side of Bumblebee’s helm that he could feel those mandibles flicking open and shut as he spoke.

“Bumblebot not wanted anymore, maybe? Just like Wasp.” Bumblebee clenched his fists by his side, but found he didn’t have the strength to hold them like that. “Waspinator take away Bumblebot’s pain, just like Wasp.”

Bumblebee felt his ventilators stall briefly, making him choke out his next exhalation; entire body jolting as if expelling the air was an incredible labor. Waspinator was petting him again, all four hands working simultaneously, innocent and chaste but with intention. His processor felt so thick and crowded, like it hurt to think. Refusing to reboot his optics, Bumblebee tried to speak, to tell him off, but, “you hate me…” was all he managed before choking again. Waspinator licked the side of his face and he ceased all attempts at speaking again, a pained little moan slipping from his throat.

“That not all Waspinator feels.” Bumblebee opened his optics, looking down over his chest at Waspinator sharply, but he moved too quickly and was hit with intense feedback, colors swarming his vision, thick pixilated blobs.

Making calming chirring noises, Waspinator pulled back slightly, moving his larger hands to Bumblebee’s hips and massaging up and down his thighs. The arousal was back suddenly, in full force, the scar over his stomach feeling like it was going to melt through his core. He was panicking, but all his body would do was lay there, limbs heavy and sluggish.

“Wasp was changed without wanting, but it was better. Bumblebot also changed without wanting, now, and it is better.” The words slurred together in Bumblebee’s processor, their meanings only coming after several more kliks of touching. He raised an arm in self-defense but all it did was encircle one hand, seeming so tiny in comparison, around Waspinator’s thick wrist.

“Changed, wha-” Waspinator pressed his toothy mouth against Bumblebee’s in a sort-of kiss, mandibles parted around his face in a threatening embrace. He had no lips, but his tongue slithered out between his fangs and Bumblebee, whose mouth had been caught half open, could do nothing but accept it against his own.

The larger bot moved against him, as best he could. So large was the disparity in their sizes that he could not lay flush against Bumblebee in any way that would be truly stimulating, so he arched himself, forming a living cage around him. The hands on Bumblebee’s thighs tightened, pulling him up and into Waspinator’s lap until he could feel the heat from the bigger pelvis against his own.

Hissing, he arched back away from it. Condensation was already forming along his seams, threatening to become steam in the sweltering summer air. It only served to spur Waspinator on, a bold secondary hand straying from his breast to tease his inner thigh.

“You will make up to Waspinator,” he said, soft and hypnotic. Bumblebee’s head fell back against the ground with a semi-stifled wail when the roaming claws finally made their way to his interface paneling, grinding his palm against it with the same maddening care as the rest of his touches.

“You want to make up to Waspinator, don’t you, Bumblebot?” the grinding continued, only made worse when the heat from Waspinator’s own burning equipment rose up from below and met his trembling legs.

“Don’t you?”

The claws dug into the top of his hatch and he practically screamed.

“Yes! Yes, okay, yes, yes, I want to make up to you, yes I do I…” his interface covers flew off, spike and valve both swollen and leaking. Waspinator made a noise caught between a growl and a squeal, immediately bending his neck low until he was close enough to snuffle around Bumblebee’s crotch. The short bursts of breath and sound from between his legs was too much to bear. Bumblebee threw his hands over his face in near agony, covering his optics from his shame and desperation.

“Ooh,” said Waspinator, mid-sniff, “ooh…” and then buried his tongue in Bumblebee’s valve. Bumblebee shrieked, calipers clenching down hard even though the appendage had barely breached the thick lips. Invigorated by his pliancy, Waspinator pressed harder against him, grip on his thighs tightening so he could dig his tongue in even deeper. It was quite wide, unexpectedly so, spreading him almost as would a spike, and it wriggled like nothing he’d ever had in him before.

Opening his jaws so as to pull Bumblebee’s pelvis closer, Waspinator snuffed wetly. Bumblebee was writhing, mortified but not trying to escape or stop him in any way. The prehensile tongue reached the ceiling of his valve and flicked against it, testing. There was a brief moment of simple, mindless pleasure, but then something inside of him shifted.

It was as if Waspinator’s tongue had managed to penetrate even deeper, not inside his valve but somewhere else inside his body, painless but terrifying. Bumblebee jolted upright, hands flying off his face as he used them to grasp at Waspinator’s helm and tug at it.

“What are you doing! What are you doing to me!” reluctantly, Waspinator pulled off him, just enough to retract his tongue and close his mandibles. Despite Bumblebee’s clear panic, he appeared only mildly bothered, sheepish.

“Making sure.”

Bumblebee wanted a clearer answer than that, but Waspinator was already on him again, dragging a thick claw down the slit of his valve, another one wrapping tenderly around his spike. Bumblebee’s voice hitched, short, high noises all that escaped him. As if frightened of hurting him, Waspinator used the barest minimum of pressure; two claws simply dragging up the underside in a way that made it bob up and down. The servo at his valve was large enough to slide across his external sensory node as it rubbed the cleft, the sharp tip adding the slightest hint of pain to the pleasure and only heightening the stimulation.

 On the verge of begging, Bumblebee, shoved his palm over his mouth and bit it. Waspinator’s claw pushed down against the opening of his valve, just enough to penetrate slightly, making his innards ripple and widen in preparation. The condensation on his frame was dripping down between his thighs, mixing with the lubricants there to form a steaming puddle under his aft.

The claw pushed in, big and sharp. Bumblebee arched again, given no time to adjust as it plunged in as deep as Waspinator could reach, insistently tugging and pulling him open. Another one found its way to the opening and began wriggling inside as well, painful and erotic and driving Bumblebee to distraction.

“Come on, come on, don’t just-don’t just tease me like- I can’t, Wasp, Waspinator-” even through his hand, he babbled. The cave was spinning and something inside of him was on fire, pouring down through his valve with a hot rush of lubricant that spurted out around Waspinator’s digits. Bumblebee dug his heels into the ground beside Waspinator’s thighs, lifting his aft higher, offering himself up. Ecstatic, Waspinator leaned down to lick and peck at his helm.

“Waspinator will make Bumblebot so happy, so happy, so many eggs,” he cooed, finally worming the second claw inside. The force of his movements bounced Bumblebee against his pelvis, and it was finally too much on his patience and he allowed his panels to release, fat spike sliding up between them. Like the rest of him, it was changed drastically when he became technoorganic, sharp and barbed, the knot an impressive and intimidating bulge at the base.

Too caught up in his own rapture, Bumblebee was only barely able to notice, feeling it rest heavily against his inner thigh. A little trail of oral solvent was leaking from the corners of his lips, and he clumsily tried to wipe it away with the heel of his palm, optics rolling about in his head as the heat, the unbearable heat, melted his processor away.

Waspinator removed his fingers from Bumblebee’s valve, pressing them to his jaws and eagerly lapping away the excess lubricant. His hips shuddered against Bumblebee’s limp ones, inadvertently frotting their spikes together and making them both exclaim loudly.

“Bumblebot,” he hissed, continuing to thrust shakily against the bot. His antenna pressed flat against his head, optics distant. Keeping Bumblebee still, he shifted them again, angling their hips together until he was able to line up his spike. The sharp head pressed until Bumblebee felt the true weight of it, the size. It was almost impossible to imagine such a thing managing to fit inside the small channel of his valve, even prepared and wanting as it was.

“Do it,” Bumblebee whined, focusing as best he couldn’t on Waspinator’s face, “do it, do it please.”

Gripping his legs by the knees and holding his own spike in place with one hand, Waspinator complied, gently beginning to apply pressure. There was quite a bit of resistance, Bumblebee closing his eyes and sucking his lower lip between his dental grill and he tried to ignore the slow burn. A brief moment of tension passed, both of them ventilating heavily, and then, with a satisfyingly wet pop, the bulbous head was swallowed inside.

Just that was enough to push Bumblebee into a small overload, fingers pressed inside his mouth to stifle his wailing. Waspinator shuttered his optics and crooned happily, the small calipers wrapped tight around him flexing. To his credit he had restraint enough to not force the rest of himself in immediately, but could only wait until the shaking of Bumblebee’s first high subsided before his hips were nudging forward again.

Bumblebee’s voice hitched, one hand sliding up over his face to his helm in a daze, wiping the condensation across his brow. Outside, the sun had begun to set, and the dark evening air made the foggy glow of his optics that much brighter. Pulling back on his knees, Waspinator brought their pelvises closer and closer, inch by inch, watching his spike disappearing between the swollen folds with rapt attention.

He was not quite over halfway inside when the point of his spike head hit Bumblebee’s anterior wall. This made perfect sense, of course, because Bumblebee was a minibot and Waspinator was of freakish proportions, but was no less frustrating for it. Were it not for his lanky structure it was doubtful he’d have fit at all. Growling, Waspinator looked down between them at the dry, untouched base of his spike, knot swelling with impossible anticipation.

Bumblebee, on the other hand, was off his processor, quivering and stiff as his calipers strained to move around the enormous intrusion. Every sensory node inside him was shooting back information at a breakneck rate, neural net on the verge of forced reboot. He threw his head back with a guttural moan when Waspinator began pulling out, thick ridges scraping his insides until colors bloomed in his optical feed and sparks spat from his vocalizer.    

Something in Waspinator’s processor held him steady, at first. So he would not hurt Bumblebee, he watched his face closely, pulling out until just the head remained inside and then pushing back in, equally careful. After a few of these languid motions he was able to get in a little deeper, though not much, aided by lubricant and Bumblebee’s arousal, valve expanding as much as possible. The little bot groaned and thrashed his helm about, wrists submissively laid by his head, fingers clenching and releasing with each slow thrust.

It wasn’t until the tip of his spike caught the hatch of Bumblebee’s gestation chamber that he lost control. Simultaneously they started, Bumblebee because it triggered the seal to iris open, which was probably the most bizarre and erotic feeling he had ever experienced, and Waspinator because his instincts were overriding every logical protocol he had activated.

 It was too difficult a position to maintain, because Bumblebee was so small and Waspinator’s metasoma prevented him from sitting upright easily for long periods of time. Pulling all the way out of Bumblebee with a slick jet of fluid, Waspinator dropped forward onto the floor, flipping Bumblebee over beneath his chest. Bumblebee yelped at being manhandled so roughly, then hollered as Waspinator penetrated him again from behind. It was quick and dirty this time, all the way up so he once again forced the back wall deeper, stuffing Bumblebee until he was sure he was going to break.

 Holding him down with one small hand, Waspinator braced the larger two against the earth and peered down his chest at his supposed mate. Bumblebee’s chest was forced into the wax by the pressure on his back, aft hiked up on trembling legs. He gasped for ventilation, looking up at Waspinator with dizzy eyes. Growling dominantly, Waspinator ground into him, forcing his spike to catch inside him over and over, Bumblebee spreading his legs lewdly as he managed to take Waspinator almost to the knot.

For once, he was beyond words, coherent thought. Waspinator adjusted them a little, shifting a leg so both his knees rested beside Bumblebee’s, using two hands, one large and one small, to grip his hip and waist, still holding him down, and then, with a chirr of satisfaction, began to fuck him in earnest.

The first thrust took Bumblebee off guard and he screamed, and then again, and again, Waspinator moving quicker than Bumblebee had ever seen him, much less felt him, and there was no time to adjust or recover as he was mercilessly pounded. The sharp edges of Waspinator’s spike scraped against his nodes deliciously, and when the angle was just right it caught against his exterior, making him squeal hoarsely.

Head low, Waspinator pressed his antenna back against his neck, concentrating hard. He wanted to reach down between his shoulders and lick at Bumblebee affectionately, but it was almost impossible in his position. The voice in the back of his mind said “compliment him, tell him he’s doing a good job,” but when he opened his mouth all that came out was more growling and chirping.

 It probably didn’t matter, as Bumblebee was past comprehension at that point. He clawed little furrows into the floor, bouncing heavily against it until his chest had dug a small well in the wax where he rocked. He couldn’t shut his mouth, but was unable to form full words and simply howled in their place, oral solvent rolling down his chin and forming a small puddle where it rested against the floor. Thick rivulets of lubricant ran down his thighs, too viscous to evaporate immediately like the condensation that now rose in fat columns of steam from their plating.

He tripped into overload pathetically fast. Waspinator rutted into him the whole time, working him through it and onto the edge of another. He was bracing himself with both of his larger arms now, carving deep tracks though the wax and into the stone as he pushed Bumblebee so hard into the ground he felt the armor on his chest creak and groan under the stress.

Waspinator panted, open mouthed, the vibrations of his spark growing more frantic by the nano-klik, and then a bolt of charge shot between them and overload slammed into him. All his hands flew to Bumblebee, pulling him down until his swollen valve rested just on top of his knot, falling forward onto his chest without the support. A few seconds after the first wave of pleasure broke the spines on his spike flared, snagging painfully into the delicate inner lining and holding them both still for fear of tearing it.

 Bumblebee had rocketed into another overload the moment the charge had passed into him, but the pinpoint agony of the spines somehow managed to prolong it, the heightened sensitivity of his nodes throwing his sensory net into total chaos. Beyond this, his valve was clenching and releasing spastically, Waspinator’s transfluid beginning to spill inside him even deeper than his spike could penetrate, into that secondary place under his belly that had been so hot the past few weeks.

It felt like hours before Waspinator was finished. His spike acted as a plug, too large for much of the excess fluid to escape around, and his tank filled quickly. Bumblebee had just enough sense in him to begin to panic when it reached what felt like max capacity, though he was too weak to do much more than tremble.

“Sto-I-Wasp!” his vocalizer crackled, overstressed from screaming, and Waspinator did not react. He tried to call a little louder but then he was filled completely, and then even more so, and he realized that something was happening to him but he couldn’t move to see what. His words fizzled out to nothing, quiet, desperate gasps as more transfluid pushed its way in, the feeling of mechanisms rearranging themselves into so new and terrible he could hardly stand it.

 That being said, it ended rather quickly. The flow of transfluid ceased, Waspinator remaining motionless fir a few kliks to ensure he was completely tapped out, and then his spines relaxed. In a tangle of tired limbs, they parted, Waspinator pulling out slowly and pushing himself back onto his haunches to avoid crushing Bumblebee, who merely fell, strutless, into the rather expansive puddle beneath them, the removal of his spike causing their combined fluids to stream down between his thighs. The sensation against his valve, raw and sore, made him moan pitifully, burying his face in his hands as he tried, unsuccessfully, to close his legs.

Waspinator looked on pleasantly, his spike still unsheathed but unpressurized as he cooled down. Some of the calipers in Bumblebee’s valve were stuck or stiff, leaving him spread wide and rippling wearily, a rather enjoyable view. He would have been perfectly content to remain like this for a while longer, simply observing as he last shocks of overload ebbed away from the tiny frame, but the deed was not done yet.

Hauling himself back up, he reached down and flipped Bumblebee easily with one claw. His gut was distended with transfluid, the internal plating separated and pressed tight against the flexible outer mesh. Just looking at it was enough to make hot sparks reignite in his interface equipment, but his cool down period wasn’t quite over and Bumblebee looked like he was going to be out of commission for a while.

Now he had to act fast, before Bumblebee’s overload fully dissolved. Pressing a hand heavily against Bumblebee’s breast, he rubbed hard, cooing softly. His head lolled from side to side, chest plates shifting slightly but not opening. Waspinator frowned as well as his mandibles allowed, pushing harder and digging his claw tips into the seams. Bumblebee screwed his face up in pain, but Waspinator persisted, prying them apart until they separated on their own, the blue light inside filling up the cavern as nothing but a spark could.

His own casing revealed itself without prompting, nature taking over completely, and before Bumblebee’s dawning comprehension could illicit the negative reaction it undoubtedly would they were pressed together in a whirl of colors. Their energies combined, close enough to wrap together pleasurably but not enough to involve the potential risk of bonding. Waspinator pushed his essence against Bumblebee’s own, working him though one more tiny overload before pulling back.

 Bumblebee was out like a light, optics shuttered, chest closed but valve still bare to the summer heat. They were both disgusting messes so Waspinator began the long, tiring process of grooming, first dragging Bumblebee out of the sizable puddle they’d made. There was water he had brought up from the valley with him, specifically for this purpose. By the time the moon had reached its highest point, they were as clean as they were going to get.

He laid them down by the entrance to the cave, just deep enough to keep them hidden from prying eyes while still able to enjoy the night. Bumblebee, normally so grouchy in recharge, was limp as a husk, and easy to manipulate into a comfortable position. Waspinator curled his body around him, resting his head beside the small chest as it rose and fell with each intake of air, and listened intently to his spark. The calm rhythm would have been enough to lull him to stasis as well, but, exhausted as he was, he needed to remain alert. There was something specific he was listening for.

Two phases of the night later it came. He had almost dozed off despite his resolve when, with a small twitch, he recognized the high thrum of a second spark joining Bumblebee’s. Then a third. Too tired to express his excitement properly, Waspinator nuzzled his jaw against Bumblebee’s side affectionately, optics finally dimming. When they came online the next cycle, he would have time to count them. Time to share the good news, as well. The voice in the back of his mind was saying something, but he ignored it in favor of recharging.

 

* * *

 

Ratchet had once told Bumblebee that if a bot’s energy reserved ran down completely and remained that way, his systems would start self-cannibalizing to synthesize energy for as long as possible. It wasn’t very fruitful, basically producing enough power to keep vital systems online, and beyond that it was incredibly painful. It also didn’t always start to show until it was too late to override, occasionally catching the chronic overachiever off guard and resulting in a swift emergency visit to the medbay.

Prowl, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee had all been lounging around the common room of their warehouse home, only half listening, he had been ranting for some time already, mostly about how their systems would probably shut down from disuse, at which point Bulkhead had fallen into a light stasis nap. Nobody really cared, because Ratchet was just cranky and it had only been two or three days since their last heroic deed involving the Angry Archer, but something about that singular factoid stuck with Bumblebee all these years.

He really, really hated that Ratchet was always right. Seven days on the road since the gas station incident and he was beginning to feel the effects of long term fuel depletion. His tanks ached, and his plating felt thin and cold. There was no way he was going to risk that kind of cluster bomb again, so he just kept driving, hoping that he’d eventually pass by some abandoned truck or unguarded reserve.

The area he was passing through was wooded heavily, so after a point he felt it was safe enough to pull off and transform. Under a cover of maples and pawpaws, he raised his arms to the sky, stretching until his sore struts snapped cleanly back into place. Having been driving nonstop, there hadn’t been much time for relaxing, but now he felt like there was nothing left to do but. Leaning up against the rough bark of a tree that looked substantial enough to support his weight, he rebooted his optical feed wearily, kicking out his knees to ensure the joints were still functional. They were, barely.

The setting sun was shining, dim and peachy, through the thin canopy of leaves.  Cybertron didn’t have days and nights, governed by off-cycles which varied from position to position across the globe, and were generally arbitrarily decided by whoever was employing the majority of bots in a polity. Iacon, as the capitol of the Elite Guard, ran on military time for the majority of working citizens and that was what Bumblebee had been tuned to before his being shunted off to a working class shuttle with the other low-luck individuals he now considered his dearest friends. 

Like everything else, it had been weird adjusting to the way it was done on Earth. Days were brighter, nights were darker, and they both came and went faster than any city on Cybertron allowed. Naturally fickle, Bumblebee had bounced between being ecstatic at the promise of “more” and “longer” being associated in any ways with “recharge cycle”, and then slowly losing his buzz when it quickly became apparent that it was a little too often and he spent most cycles laying around fully charged and bored. The others experienced similar difficulties, and so the night patrols began sooner than later, but even those brought out a different side of Earth, empty roads and sidewalks unnatural and eerie.

He watched the thin pink light slowly dimming, the spaces between the leaves above growing harder to define. Another warning flickered across his visual feed, accompanied by an unpleasant gnaw in his tanks. Internal solvents, having nothing to process, crawled up his throat in search of purpose and he was struck by the odd juxtaposition of feelings, emptiness and overflow. Allowing himself the first rest he’d had in days, Bumblebee slid down to sit against the tree, carving thick wheels of bark off as it ground against his back and not caring.

There were little animals in the dirt. His fingers flexed and closed, digging into it, soft and loamy, and when he raised a handful of it to his face he was just able to make out their figures evacuating the soil. He knew the names of a few bugs, mostly things Sari had complained about but a few Prowl had spoken of as well. Roaches, flies, spiders, of course. A few others he had seen in movies, like ladybirds and grasshoppers, some less tame species like the villainous scorpion, often snuck into the hero’s bed or boot during a suspenseful scene by the bad guy in hopes of taking him out the cowardly way.

These were not ones he was familiar with, flat and grey, and a few so small he was almost unable to see them at all. Cybertron’s animal life was limited at best. Prowl had once tried explaining to Sari the difference between them and Earth creatures, but had quickly become exasperated at her inability to understand that some animals on Cybertron were actually Cybertronians and others weren’t; the matter was simply decided by whether or not it had a true spark.

“That’s stupid,” she said, raising her chin in that infuriating know-it-all manner of hers, “how can you tell without opening them up?”

Without looking up from his game, across the room and sprawled on the couch, Bumblebee had snorted.

“You just know. If you can’t tell the difference, maybe you’re the stupid one!” and then she had used her key to make the NPC impossibly strong and effectively ruined Bumblebee’s console until they’d both pouted enough that Optimus had to step in and made her change it back.

One of the insects was making its way up to the tip of his finger. It skipped right over the knuckles, curving and spiraling until its ascent became ludicrously convoluted. Once it reached the top, it circled, as if confused, finally perching just so against the side and unfolding gracelessly. The light had almost completely gone now, and when it finally took to the air it was as if it had simply vanished. He let his arm drop, feeling the overly cool sting of energon depletion tingle up his circuits. Something about the sight had made him feel almost sick, a longing for familiarity beginning to creep into his struts.

Whether it was the familiarity of Cybertron’s cold efficiency or that of his friend’s faces, warm and safe in their anonymity to everyone but him, was debatable. He shuttered his optics and leaned his head back against the shelled tree, internally monitoring the rapid decrease in temperature for lack of better distractions. His systems ached for recharge and he decided to indulge them, hoping that the morning sun would bring some sort of answer to his problems.

 

* * *

 

Time had been reduced to a concept the moment his chronometer was broken, but now it was hardly even that. Days and nights bled into one another until he could hardly remember which was which. His desire to be near the cave mouth had diminished with a disturbing rapidity, and Waspinator had been most obliging with accommodating him thus. His trips to the outside world decreased in length but yielded surprising results, often large sheets of cloth to add to the impressive nest that ate up all the room in the back of their den.

Bumblebee himself had changed much over the stretch of time since their first coupling, and was quite gravid. It had started as a mere discomfort, a sort of heaviness inside him that Waspinator was not quite articulate enough to explain but became increasingly apparent over the first few days. Then the weight had become a small bump in Bumblebee’s lower abdomen, his plating stretching against its mesh form the way it did when Waspinator refused to pull out during interface and flooded his tank. Unfortunately it resulted in little to no pleasure for Bumblebee and therefore was an inconvenience

Of course he knew what it meant. Something was clearly wrong with his spark the moment he’d woken after their tryst. It didn’t just sting in the way it often did after a good fragging, it felt full, creating an odd balance with the way his lower body ached. Waspinator was already awake and curled around him, licking and purring like he tended to do, and Bumblebee was struck with a sudden self-consciousness, not wanting to expose himself in front of the other.

The first moment he’d been left alone he looked. Seeing the inside of your own laser core was difficult normally, but with all the strain his servos had gotten recently it was impressive he managed at all. Suffice to say he did, and was left with the confusing and frightening knowledge that there were at least fifteen extra lights whirling around inside his chest. It defied all logic, all his prior understanding of how the universe was put together, and yet somehow a small part of himself ignored his shock and told him, you knew all along, you were right.

As he grew in size, other problems began to manifest. Lethargy, terrible and overpowering, gripped him constantly, even though his mind, in its moments of clarity, was racing. No virus actually took hold of him, but he always felt he was just on the brink of some sort of crash. Worst of all, the more his stomach enlarged, the more pressure it put on certain other aspects of his anatomy.

When he had started to show, Waspinator had refused to spike him because he worried it would damage the little lump from the inside. He was probably right, but it became increasingly difficult for Bumblebee not to beg. His valve was swollen and leaking constantly, little rivulets of lubricant escaping his panel at the worst of times. As Waspinator continued to deny him, the struggle became less about trying to get Waspinator to do what he wanted and more about whether or not he had lost enough dignity to go at himself with the other bot there.

A few days into the torment he found he indeed had. Thighs crossed hard, he had slipped a hand down to the space between them at their apex, hoping to Primus his actions would go unnoticed. The first downward stroke of his palm had his panel springing open of its own volition, and it barely had enough time to get out of the way before he was shoving two, three fingers inside himself, massaging the aching folds with his palm.

The scent and sound instantly attracted Waspinator, who bent over him excitedly, panting. Bumblebee crossed his leg tighter and pulled them to his chest, trying in vain to cover himself.

“Shut up,” he snapped, a moan ragged on the edge of his voice, “quit, quit looking at me you f-freak.” He had both hands on himself now, digging a fourth finger into the channel of his valve while the other franticly toyed with his exterior node. His spike had difficulty extending around the swell of his belly, so he didn’t even bother with it, desperately trying to alleviate the pressure his gestation tank was putting on his interface hardware.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, his tone did nothing to deter Waspinator’s interest, and the bug bents down over him, licking and nuzzling at his neck while his small arms tried to gently part Bumblebee’s legs at the knee. Bumblebee was incensed.

“Wha-so now you’re gonna, gonna help me!” Waspinator rumbled pleasantly, a third hand coming down to massage his stomach.

“Waspinator cannot hurt eggs, but Waspinator can do other things for Bumblebot.”

Bumblebee’s hands were already tiring, lethargy creeping through his extremities. It wasn’t fair, the way he burned inside but could do nothing conclusive about it. Weakening, he finally allowed his legs to part, exposing himself, movements slowing but not by choice. Waspinator’s claws immediately found his servos and carefully extracted them from his valve. Bumblebee didn’t resist but rolled his head back and moaned sorrowfully.

“Nooo…”

Maneuvering himself onto the floor, Waspinator scooted in between his legs. He pressed the flat of his head against the bump of his gestation tank, purring.

“Turn over.”

Planting his lubricant stained fingers in the waxy floor, Bumblebee gave him a sour look. Before he had the chance to answer, strong arms were already maneuvering him onto his side. He pushed the heels of his palms against the ground and unsteadily got onto his hands and knees, the way Waspinator liked. He was so tired and desperate that he kept his mouth shut in hopes that Waspinator might choose to spare him a sexless fate, ventilating hot air in little breathy pants.

A firm hand gripped his upper back and pushed him gently onto his elbows, so his chest met the floor. The heavy weight of his belly, hanging low beneath him, just barely kept from it. The arm remained firmly on him, holding him steady, but it was joined by more on his legs and back. Wasting very little time, Waspinator’s smaller claws simultaneously caressed his valve, dipping just the tips inside and spreading him wide.

Bumblebee clawed at the ground, moaning haltingly. Holding him open, Waspinator pressed two of his larger fingers inside, rolling them against the inner lining. Bumblebee’s calipers contracted violently around him, squeezing and releasing in a trained pattern he could easily imagine around his spike. The thought made it impossible to keep his panel closed, despite his resolve not to involve Bumblebee with it, and it rose swiftly between his thighs, engorged and leaking.

“Please, Wasp, Waspinator, please,” Bumblebee begged, urged by the sound of his hatch releasing. Waspinator’s spike leapt at the invitation, but he ignored it, pumping his claws into Bumblebee with relish. This got a positive response, Bumblebee wailing into the floor, and he worked him harder and harder, until the force of his fingers had Bumblebee rocking back and forth. The movement also rocked his stomach, which swung pendulously below. Though his view was limited, the small amount he got drove Waspinator wild.

“Bumblebot,” he hissed, pushing his face into the smaller bots back and feeling its movement, “Bumblebot is, you are, so hot…” His fingers dug in all the way to the knuckle and with a final lurch, Bumblebee overloaded, a burst of fluid splashing against Waspinator’s palm as his legs gave out. Lowering him on to his side carefully, Waspinator shook with the force of his own arousal. He withdrew his claws, wrapping his tongue around them greedily, optics brightening at the taste.

He scrabbled his feet against the ground, pushing backwards until he was far enough away from Bumblebee he was sure he would be able to control himself. His hands were around his own spike before he’d even stopped moving, jerking at a quick, unsteady pace. Curling in on himself, his lengthy tongue wrapped around the sharp head, toying with his own slit.

Across the room, Bumblebee had rolled over to watch. The hot sting of desire was still pulsing through his circuitry, and he reached an arm back under his aft to unceremoniously shove three servos into his valve. It was a difficult angle, and he was already exhausted from his first attempt, but there was no way he could reach around his belly in this position and nothing he could do to stop himself from trying. The nodes inside felt raw from prior use, clinging to his fingers.

Waspinator’s hips shuddered upwards of their own accord, and with a final snarl he drew his face away just in time to avoid catching himself in the optic with his own transfluid. He hissed in relief, curling his metasoma around his hip so he could relax back on his haunches. Though his servos were nothing in comparison to the carnal pleasures he took from Bumblebee, the strength of his arousal had been so that his overload still blew him away with its intensity, which is why it took him several kliks to notice his little mate still struggling to finish himself on the floor.

“Bumblebot?” He cocked his head to the side. Bumblebee arched beautifully, his wonderfully gravid gut straining the mesh until it was taut around the geometric plating beneath.

“Don’t just- don’t just, ahh, sta-aaah…” his own overload caught him by surprise, arcs of charge curling up his wrist though the condensation that had gathered there. Waspinator crawled to him quickly, hunching over him as the last tremors subsided. As soon as he was able to shake the ringing from his audio sensors, Bumblebee caught him staring and immediately looked away, ashamed. Chittering lightly, Waspinator nudged his face against Bumblebee’s helm.  

“Bumblebot will hurt self. Slow down.”

“Shut up.” He was too tired to properly form a retort, but the words he spoke had enough venom in them that he might as well have spat in Waspinator’s face. It didn’t deter the bug at all, and he pulled Bumblebee up into his lap to begin licking him clean. Limp as a buff rag, Bumblebee just shuttered his optics and tried to relax. Recharge sounded nice. Lazily acknowledging the fact that in any other circumstance he would probably be horrified by how casual he was being, and now normal Waspinator’s rough tongue felt on his plating, he let his shut down protocols run.

He didn’t need to worry about the mess, about refueling properly after this. He didn’t need to worry about Decepticons or messages from the capitol or comm. calls from Sari. Waspinator took care of everything. He almost had the presence of mind to hate it.

 

* * *

 

He had been alone for so long now that it hardly even struck him as unusual anymore. There were times when he remembered, that small, ugly part of himself boiling with rage, the things he had lost in being sentenced to isolation. It was rarely enough to get an external reaction from him, and when it did he tried to repress it, agitated and pacing like he had been trapped. Caged. He remembered what that felt like too.  

Sometimes the feelings would appear out of nowhere, when the situation wasn’t even relevant. When he was in the air, or after a kill, full and satisfied, when he shouldn’t even be feeling anything but pleasure, he would be gripped by the sudden memory of what true hunger was like. He would pause, press his body against the still warm meat, ground himself in the realness of his satiated tanks and strong jaws. Nothing would keep him from what he wanted now. He would not wake up behind bars.

There had been a few times when he had rebooted from his recharge cycle early, because the little organics, humans, had found him. It was rare, because he had gotten quite good at recognizing which groups of trees were put there by man and which were wild land, but still common enough that he was always half expecting it. Usually they were in no way armed or prepared to deal with a beast like himself anyways, frightened and disoriented, generally adolescents.

There were times, though, where he had to fight. It was never difficult, and often simply acting angry was enough to make them turn-bumper and flee, but sometimes they had weapons, primitive firearms, sharpened tools, and their bravery or stupidity was such that they did not back down when he rose up, arms and mandibles open wide. These were always trying times, both because he had to deal with the kind of slag he had hoped to leave behind, and because no matter how angry he was, or how they provoked him, he couldn’t find it within himself to actually hurt them.

It wasn’t that he was unable to defend himself beyond bravado, but that, like the meat, like the claustrophobic tendencies, it helped the last dredges of his former self worm their way to the surface. Civilians, he didn’t want to hurt innocents. So he’d snap and growl and pull the weapons from their tiny hands, but he’d never bite. At times like these the world seemed to reverse, that the temptation he needed to suppress was not the animal but the bot.

The very idea made him angry and nervous, because he couldn’t explain it and it hurt to think about. He confined himself to solitude, abandoned by the Spider, abandoned by his society, and then he didn’t have to worry his processor at all.

 Even as isolation had been his savior, though, it began to wear on him. There were urges he had, ones he could not accurately place within the insect or the Cybertronian part of himself. He wanted company, he wanted interface, and something else, full and hard in his stomach, a desire to make and own. The concept was frighteningly foreign.

Now that’d he’d had time to himself, though, it was as if new connections had sparked inside his hard drives, information he had seemingly forgotten coming back to the forefront of his thoughts. He could create things. He could create life. Other Cybertronians could too. Once the thought had gotten into his head, he couldn’t shake it. The want grew and grew, parasitic, until his very circuitry burned with the desperation to mate.

With that desperation came a kind of clarity. Specifically, a kind of clarity about himself, about his feelings (or what remained of them), and a clarity about, oddly enough, his betrayal. His desires focused on this clarity, on the single bot it all revolved around. All the previously impotent rage he felt, the sick, heavy hurt in his spark, it had real meaning now, somewhere to be directed. What had been a ball of confusion before unraveled pretty and neat, exposing only the bare facts.

He wanted to punish Bumblebee.

He wanted to mate with Bumblebee.

The organic in him made his thoughts so easy, streamlined urges tied heavily to physical actions, calculations not necessary. He needed to eat, he hunted or foraged. He needed to recharge, he landed and did so. He needed Bumblebee? He found Bumblebee.

There was no need to go north, to Detroit. Like water finding the sea he was pulled, through the winds, west, over forests and mountains, 'til he hovered high above the winding snake tail of a highway. The earth was damp and when he landed his feet left deep imprints in the black mud. There were no travelers on the road, nothing in the orchards surrounding it, but he felt the tug of instinct, lowering his head to breathe in the musk of the area, analyzing its contents.

Despite the recent rain, it took him less than a half cycle to pick up on the rich scent of energon, mixed with a variety of crudes. It had probably been imported by the Guard to keep the troops stationed here comfortable. Puffing out his chest, Waspinator gleaned pleasure from their weakness, completely unable to process matter in the way he now was, dependent on humanity for their meager meals. Bumblebee was dependent too. Judging by the burnt smell accompanying the rest of it, he was running low. He’d be sluggish, inattentive.

Lowering to four legs, he followed the trail, secondary arms scrabbling at the mud from time to time to dredge up the scent. The path wasn’t old; he’d clearly been there after, maybe during, the recent rain. The trees were thin but healthy, smelling slightly of poison, and he blended among them with natural ease. The sky was a grey swirl of early morning precipitation, heavy and still in stark juxtaposition with Waspinator’s thoughts. Little six legged creatures, not unlike himself, seeped up and over his fingers like groundwater.

Soon the damp ground showed more signs of travel, chunks turned up here and there, eventually giving way to shallow divots in the perfect geometric shape of Bumblebee’s boots. Even as he was noticing the change, he heard it. The sound was so faint that the weather’s doldrums were the only reason he could pick up on it at all, like the breathing of the Earth. Ventilations, the violent twist of a hungry spark. It was vibrating with panic, and for a moment Waspinator was sure he had been seen first, but as he honed in on the source his fears turned to satisfaction.

About forty yards away, Bumblebee was crouched next to a tree trying to get his bearings. His back was to Waspinator, hands on his knees as he gasped in air, trying to cool his overworked systems as they burned out, empty. As Waspinator inched forward, he noticed little yellow flecks in the dirt, smelling strongly acidic. Tank solvents. Bumblebee was retching, but his tank was empty.

Creeping through the orchard, he circled Bumblebee’s position, watching. It didn’t seem like the bot was going anywhere anytime soon. The water in the air dampened all noise, made it easy to approach him. Just a few feet away, Waspinator inhaled deeply, wrapping himself in Bumblebee’s unique flavor. Oh yes, he would do nicely. Even if he hadn’t been the exact bot Waspinator had been looking for, he was ripe and young and, current condition aside, healthy.

Filtering a specific venom into his stinger, he crouched, calmer than he had ever been in his life. He was going to make Bumblebee burn.

Another of those Insecticon-like animals leapt the gap between the bark of a gnarled tree beside him to his upper bicep, wings vibrating soundlessly in the cold air. Without looking, Waspinator reached up and crushed it.

   

* * *

 

Things had probably progressed at their natural rate, but Bumblebee was wholly unaware of it. It seemed at times like it had been mere days since Waspinator had first spiked him, that the unpleasant girth of his gut had sprung up overnight, a tumor born in half a week. Waspinator would flit about, curious and cautious and new, excitable, and were it not for the ache that crept into his struts so suddenly Bumblebee would have been glad to follow.

Other times, though, it seemed as though years had passed, stellar cycles spent crushed under the weight of this unwanted guest in his body. He would lay, like the victim of a landslide, with his own personal boulder, loudly bemoaning his fate. Waspinator was here for this too, curling around him with reassuring coos and caresses, but he wanted none of it. He was sick and swollen, he was in daily pain, he wanted to see his friends again.

 (though the most upsetting thing occurred, sometimes, when he couldn’t think of who it was he wanted to see, and he would be petrified by sudden fear because he could not remember where it was he was supposed to be instead of here, and he wished Prowl would come help him out already because he was getting so tired of this dumb waiting game and he wanted to go back outside into the open expanse of space and use his servos the way they were meant to be used, on rock and metal, oh Primus why wasn’t he here yet).

Inside of him, the foreign bodies moved, the sparks in his chest progressing down through his circuitry to join their frames as the time of the emergence approached. Now no longer next to his own, Bumblebee’s connection with them was fuzzy at best, their tiny developing thoughts and feelings not bubbling up into his own at peculiar times. Waspinator fretted about this, because he liked to look inside Bumblebee’s chest often to ensure his offspring were safe, but Bumblebee could hardly care less, happy his own spark was no longer choked and itchy.

The mesh of his stomach was stressed to the point of pain, a thin purple light occasionally visible when he shifted, energon lines pressed nearly flat against the surface. At night, he’d bury his face into Waspinator’s coarse fur, trying to ignore its unsteady glow. He was only semi successful. He warred within himself, wanting to reject the idea of his forced condition but simultaneously being directed by some deep rooted coding to embrace it, throw himself whole-sparked into the carrying and raising of- what, exactly?

That was the biggest terror, the kind of thing that kept him bordering on panic during his few waking hours not spent writhing against Waspinator’s hands or mouth. The technoorganic nature of their sire was horrifying enough. Now the mix would be even less balanced, perhaps, and mulling over what changes that would bring almost drove him into fits. They were strong, pushing outward against the insides of his gestation tank until he could not only feel but see their movements from the outside. Voracious, he guzzled down the rations he was brought, trying to stifle the little hungry tugs from nineteen growing support systems.    

Most of the time he didn’t have the strength to care.

Eventually the mild shifting in his gut became spasms. He would be awoken from his naps in shock, the inner lining of his valve contracting hard on nothing, convinced the time had come, but it never seemed to be the real event. He’d prop himself up on his elbows, as quickly as was possible, sputtering sudden, high gasps, calling for Waspinator, who always responded with almost infuriating calmness.

“Bumblebot is not ready,” he’d say, optics glinting with inappropriate amusement, “Bumblebot is not leaking. Eggs are not coming.” And Bumblebee would dig his servos into the pulpy floor and grit his dentae until the squeezing ceased, his calipers relaxing with an almost surprised ache, as if it were Bumblebee’s fault his body was rebelling against common sense and decency. Waspinator lapped at his forehead, “see? Safe.” Bumblebee wanted to strike him but never managed the willpower.

It was patronizing and frightening, as if he had been reduced to a newspark again with no knowledge or identity, unable to carry himself through life on his own. That alone was enough to wound him, ego already an unsteady mess for Primus knows how long, but the realization that it was true, that he could barely move on his own much less refuel, that he had no idea what was going to happen to him or when or why, that nearly broke him.

One evening Waspinator returned with a fresh barrel of gasoline to find Bumblebee sitting up against the back wall, scrabbling at his stomach and hyperventilating. Were this the first time this had happened, he would probably have been more alarmed, but it was not. Bumblebee wasn’t strong enough to do himself any permanent harm, blunt little fingers sliding off the round contours of his modified frame as if they’d been greased.

“You can’t keep me here like this,” he was choking on his own tongue, panic causing a disconnect between body and mind, “You can’t keep me like _this_.” His clawing got rougher, as if to further emphasize his point. Waspinator hated these fits. They weren’t good for the eggs.

“Bumblebot…” he crouched over him, grabbing his wrists and holding them away from his stomach. Bumblebee thrashed, gnashing his teeth like an animal. Waspinator found it profoundly disturbing to see him act this way, though he’d seen it before, but at least this kind of raw emotion was something he could understand, relate to. He will calm down when the eggs come, he thought, the eggs will make him happy. The coding was all new to Bumblebee, of course he was reacting badly to it.

It still felt wrong to see someone so heavily gravid in such a state of mental upset. This was supposed to be a joyous time. Waspinator had wanted it to be a joyous time. He both did and didn’t understand the gravity of what he had done and found himself incapable of concentrating on thinking it through. In his time alone it had been easy to allow one side or the other make the decisions, because there was nothing to compare himself to, no one to prove how far out of reach he had actually fallen. Now there was this, a situation he had thought himself perfectly capable of handling that had gone wildly wrong.

Waspinator had failed. He was not happy. Bumblebee was not happy. He was sick.

He held the little bot to his chest and waited until the writhing ceased. Bumblebee was yelling things at him, largely unintelligible, bubbling up through his fur in little bursts. He tired quickly, reduced to simply leaning into Waspinator’s arms after a few kliks. Waspinator stroked his back, watching for any signs of further distress.

“When eggs come, things will be better,” he said, mostly to himself. Bumblebee sighed heavily in response, entire chassis quivering. Things were silent for a while, light from the setting sun streaming in through the cave mouth and painting the walls a soft orange.

“I want to go home.”  

 Even as he spoke, something inside him shifted. It was a dull feeling at first, movement, perhaps, of one of the eggs, but more insistent, violent. Then, something snapped.

The form in his arms went unnaturally still. Waspinator noticed.

“Bumblebot?”

A scent, strong and humid, hit his olfactory sensors approximately .28 nano-kliks before Bumblebee convulsed, a new and strange kind of panic inside him, and a rush of fluid splashed out through the dented seams of his interface panel. Pulling away, Waspinator watched, a bubble of excitement expanding inside his spark chamber. With fizzling pops, bright balls of light from Bumblebee’s optical filament snapped into the air, heated and alive.

“What, what do I do!”

Bumblebee’s panels snapped open on their own, allowing another gush of amniotic fluid to splash down between them. Waspinator was thrilled, mandibles bursting open with a harsh yip of laughter.

“Eggs!” he cried, pushing Bumblebee over to the nest area, “Eggs!”

Clearly, this did nothing to assuage Bumblebee’s fear. He hardly struggled, barely able to react to anything but the sudden, incredible pain as his gestational valve cover retracted completely inside him, flooding his lower body with sensation. New informational warnings were filtering through his processor, too many at once to handle, and he could feel his calipers spreading as wide as they could on their own, twitching in anticipation of whatever was going to come next.

Waspinator laid him up against the wall, cushioned by scraps of plush material mixed with wax, and crouched down to his optic level. Ventilation seemed impossible, every inch of Bumblebee’s frame on fire, new connections sparking in his system with each jerk of the once quiescent life in his gut. Instinctively he tried to close his thighs, desperate to somehow tide the heavy flow between them, but Waspinator gripped his knees and held them apart.

“Up,” he urged, “Bumblebot must sit up.” he pushed against Bumblebee until he was forced to spread his knees, lifting up just enough to pull himself into a squat. The new position made the weight of his belly seem enormous, and he leaned back heavily. Waspinator was crooning softly to his stomach, tongue flicking out against his jaws in quick, excited pops.

“Is it, is it happening? I don’t know what I, oh, Primus, what do I…” Bumblebee’s coherency was lost. The eggs were pressing downwards already, only aided by gravity, and the pressure was incredible. His gestation tank contracted, hard, and one began forcing its way into his valve channel. Another copious gob of thick liquid sloshed out around it and he screamed.

“Bumblebot!” Waspinator crooned, torn between concern and euphoria.

“It’s okay, Bumblebot okay, everything will be good now!”

The sensation of expansion from the inside out was incredibly strange. Passing through his gestation seal, each lump felt enormous, impossibly wide, and he was terrified they were going to turn him inside-out, tear through his valve lining and destroy him in the way Waspinator’s spike could have. He tried to clench his calipers shut, to halt their progression, but one had already made it far enough to be sucked forward, not back, by the sudden contraction.

The first egg nudged through the folds of his valve, hesitated, and then dropped out into the world with a slick plop. Waspinator squealed excitedly, but Bumblebee could not bring himself to look down at it, optics wide and bright and aimed heavenward. It was quickly followed by another, worming its way through his trembling innards as if all his desperate attempts to keep it inside only invigorated its thirst for life.

It was all too much, too fast. His valve felt like it was burning, and not entirely from pain. One of Waspinator’s vestigial arms tenderly rubbed his stomach, and he could hear him exclaiming delightedly with each new presence that passed from his frame, but it was hardly a comfort. Another one, particularly wide but not horribly so, pushed out once, twice, before finally slipping away, and he arched with charge, surprised by his own overload.

There was no time to recover. Another egg pushed out, then another, then another, each sending him into little aftershocks, or perhaps entirely new convulsions. It all began to blend, until he was sure it was all one continuous rush of feeling, his entire body a single electrified nerve circuit. His optical sensors cut out, his vocalizer shorted, and all there was were the eggs in his valve, Waspinator’s chirring in his receptors.

And then it was over.

It was like waking up from a dream. His optics un-shuttered, and looked out across the cavern with fresh clarity. He had slid back down the wall at some point, possibly when he passed out at the end, and not sat with his legs spread wide in a puddle of miscellaneous fluid. It was a murky, pale gold, gently laced with the pink glow of energon, but he registered a surprisingly small amount of damage. Waspinator was still hunched there, pulling the eggs away one by one and licking them clean, setting each one aside in a little divot in the floor.

The eggs themselves were smaller than he’d have expected, easily concealable in one of his palms. They didn’t exactly resemble the chicken eggs Sari had shown him, more ovular and hard looking, chitin replaced with a smooth metallic skin, vaguely greenish in color. He felt oddly detached looking at them, as though he knew what response was expected of him but couldn’t quite bring himself to perform. He watched Waspinator dimly, allowing his body to tremble out all the remaining tension. His stomach pinged sporadically, the metal of his gestation tank slowly shifting and reforming, plates sliding over one another, shrinking down.

He was bathed, and not just in the usual, sponge-style way; honest to Allspark bathed with several barrels of water Waspinator had been storing in the back. His plating remained scuffed and dented, luster all but lost, but it felt good, incredibly so. Everything felt like he was moving in one, slow line, but after the fact he realized he must have been flitting in and out of consciousness, all the shaped and colors distorted, big chunks of events cut out and replaced with blurred, inconsistent memories.

There was one big swatch of blackness in his hard drives, and then, morning.

It was warm. A beam of sunlight managed to pass through the cave mouth and fall across his chest. Behind him, Waspinator purred lowly, already fully awake. Curled, soft and fragile inside their collective arms, were the eggs. The first thing he felt was relief, an immense wave of burden sloughing off his chest, literally and figuratively. For the first time in lunar cycles, his mind was its own, free of the incessant chirping of his progeny. His lower half hurt, but it was the ache of a job done and over.

Was he free?

“Bumblebot did so good.”

Waspinator nuzzled his helm next to Bumblebee’s, purring in a deep rumble that could be felt through his chest.

“So good. So happy.”

Bumblebee shifted, struck by the force of Waspinator’s emotion. Had he always been this passionate? He couldn’t remember. In fact, the entire span of his time here seemed a confusing jumble of shapes and sounds, snippets of conversations he wasn’t sure he’d had. Prowl.

“What…” he trailed off, not sure how to phrase his question. Waspinator pulled away only slightly, still humming with pleasure.

“What now?”

Vestigial arms rubbed circles on his now flat stomach. He had expected it to hurt, but the area was strangely numb. Despite the gentle gesture, Bumblebee was not blind to the way the body behind him tensed.

“Now…eggs.”

The sensation of annoyance began to bubble in his gut, simmering its way up his nerve lines and into his extremities, cutting through the warm morning air like true fire. Bumblebee was angry, and for the first time in months it was not at himself.

“We already had the eggs.”

It was the calmest he had ever spoken while upset, and the knowledge curled, strong and hard in his spark. He pushed himself up, first on his elbows, then his hands, finally to his knees, completely by his own will and power.

“We already had the eggs, and you know that’s not what I meant!”

He stood suddenly, fists at his sides, boiling.

“ _What now_!”

Waspinator seemed shocked, laying off the ground still, their clutch glimmering like pearls between them. He was light, so light. No more weight on his stomach, on his mind. He was going to get answers.

“Bumblebot…stays with eggs?” the voice was small, unsure.

“Why should I?” he threw his arms up wildly, beginning a limping pace back and forth as he waited for any sign of aggression to show, so riled up that he was sure there was no way, no possible way he would be forced into submission again.

“No,” said Waspinator, “not right, not- Bumblebot supposed to want eggs. Want to stay with eggs. Stay with Waspinator. Bumblebot will be happy.”

“You pulled me away from everything, everyone I cared for and you- you drugged me, or something, scrambled my circuits- and you think, after all you did to me, the way you…” he swallowed, pausing in a moment of deliberation as he tried to remember the interface, how Waspinator had pushed him down and he had clawed back, equally hungry, “the way you tricked me! You think after all that I’d want to stay?”

 He hunched forward, ventilating hard. He half expected to be attacked, thrown down and stung again, but all his tirade was met with was silence. Waspinator did not share his anger. He looked confused. His mandibles opened and closed repeatedly, chittering nervously but not actually managing to speak.

“Don’t look at me like that!”

“Bumblebot?”

The pieces of code all clicked into place. This wasn’t some sort of weird façade; Waspinator genuinely didn’t understand why his plan hadn’t worked. How could he?

Bumblebee deflated.

“Waspinator…Wasp. I’m sorry,” he turned, looking towards the mouth of the cave, “but I cant.”

“Why?” Waspinator did sound angry then, sitting up slowly.

“Because!” Bumblebee still couldn’t bring himself to look right at him.

“Because you trapped me, and you hurt me! Do you seriously think I’ll just change my mind?”

He flexed his servos stiffly, not wanting to move but unable to contain his upset.

“Some part of you has to realize this is wrong. Even if you wanted revenge, even if you…Wasp was never this person. He wouldn’t have done this, even if he was an aft. You know that’s true. Wasp had goals and hopes and dreams outside of revenge, before. I know he’s in there, wanting to come back.”

Finally their optics met again. The rage bled away from Bumblebee, replaced with emotion he wasn’t sure he wanted to identify. Waspinator sat up fully, hunching his shoulders to meet Bumblebee’s gaze.

“Bumblebot want to save Wasp, yes? Bumblebot want to help?”

The growl was dangerously low. Bumblebee held his stare firmly.

“Just like Bumblebot help Wasp at boot camp? Just like Bumblebot help Wasp in stockades? When One-Optic-bot comes to hurt Wasp, Bumblebot help then?”

The bristles of his fur were rising, the hackles of an animal.

“Like Bumblebot save Wasp from Elite Guard? From Spider-bot?”

He made a ragged sneezing noise, as if he were attempting to spit.

“No! No, Bumblebot never help then, because Bumblebot too busy, too stupid to see. Bumblebot throws down own life to save Mudflap, goes to fix space-bridges with Mudflap, leaves Wasp to rust. Always leaves Wasp, never seeing. Bumblebot never wants to see. Bumblebot wants to think, to think Wasp is evil. But that not what Wasp wants.”

He lowered his helm until Bumblebee could feel his ventilations warm across his jaw.

“Not what Waspinator wants.”

It felt like the air in the cave was drying up, his systems overheating.

“What do you want?” barely a whisper.

Waspinator’s face suddenly seemed unbearably Cybertronian.

“You.”

Bumblebee took a step back, finally admitting he was afraid.

“You can’t have me, Wasp. Not after this.”

The eggs, behind Waspinator’s foot, lay silent. Their presence filled the room.

“ _You owe me_.”

It wasn’t Waspinator who spoke. Bumblebee felt his spark stop.

“No,” he said, still stepping back, “this won’t work. You can’t- you can’t get back what was taken from you like this. Not from me, or anybody. Its just - gone.”

Waspinator made no move to follow him, but watched.

“Nothing you do to me, or, or I do for you will change that. You need help, I want to get you help, but there’s, there’s no going back.”

His boots hit the lip of the cave. He didn’t have to look to feel the change in the air, remember the steep drop below. A gust of hot wind licked up his back, whistling in his wheel wells.

“But you will stay.”

Wasp was looking at him – Wasp, crouched there on the waxy floor, covered in fuzz and skin and scales. He wanted to leave as much as Bumblebee. The sun reached its apex in the noonday sky.

“I guess,” said Bumblebee, “for now.”

 

* * *

 

Sari stepped into the Autobot’s base with a smile on her face.

“Oi! Bumblebee! Get your yellow butt out here!”

Before there could be any time for response, she was off her feet and in the air, reaching his private quarters and tapping in the entrance code in record time. The door slid open and she burst into the room, fists raised an battle mask down, ready for a friendly scuffle and aimed directly at the small recharge slab where Bumblebee currently-

Was not.

She powered down her jets, touching the ground with a light skip.

“Hello?” her hands found her hips, foot tapping. Maybe he was on morning patrol?

A tentative knock brought her thoughts back to Earth. One of the new bots was hanging just inside the doorway, looking highly uncomfortable, even more so when she turned to face him fully. Realizing she was still wearing her battle mask, she retracted it, laughing a bit awkwardly.

“Sorry. Is Bumblebee on duty?” the mech reset his vocalizer, stepping more fully into view, though he stayed well away from the entry itself.  When he did nothing more than fidget, Sari started again, slightly miffed.

“Furao, right?”

The bot managed a small smile.

“Furão, actually. And no, uh, Bumblebee’s not on duty.” Sari leaned forward a little, prompting.

“Well, where is he?”

Furão crossed his arms.

“He’s on one of his trips, we think. Not that, I mean, not that he ever tells anybot.”

Sari’s smile weakened.

“What do you mean?”

“His trips. You know, where he just goes off for cycles at a time. Just gone. We don’t really know what he does, just drives around I guess. He’s been gone a really long time though. We’re not sure…” he trailed off, looking away, as if he’d said too much.

“That’s news to me.” Sari took a step forward and was surprised when the bot twitched, as if frightened. Guilty. Losing all pretense of pleasantry, her face turned hard.

“You’re not sure about what?”

Furão stiffened.

“He’s been gone for eight orbital cycles and- I’m sorry, Earth months, ten months.” He bit his lip, fingers flexing, and met Sari’s eyes.

“We aren’t sure he’s coming back.”

The room suddenly seemed very empty. She turned, surveying it again. The tires, the concrete, even the berth were all the same. The same as they had been before, during her visits, and even before that, in his old room, back in the abandoned factory when Bumblebee was just another bridge repairbot gone MiA.

And now he was gone again. That was new. She couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been waiting for her, eager for distraction. Sometimes annoyingly so. Sari had felt bad, occasionally, for being so brash with Bumblebee, but he seemed unable to grasp the concept that she needed to see her dad and Isaac needed to do things slowly, not at breakneck speed.

Sure, she had still spent plenty of time with ‘Bee outside of her familial obligations. There was always a part of her that was ready to raise Hell, but even she had trouble keeping up at times. He had gotten so needy, particularly after coming back to Earth, and that, despite her best efforts, had driven a wedge between them.

Perhaps she had been too quick to judge, though. She was twenty one, and Bumblebee was nearly two thousand, but the maturity gap was far from proportional. Still, she had always assumed Bumblebee had trusted her with everything, even after she’d began to turn down his offers for a midnight joyride to get ice cream at the gas station.

 For a moment she was almost blindingly angry that no one had told her sooner, not Bumblebee, not the bots stationed here, not her own damn intuition.

Furão was fidgeting behind her still. Turning to him, she smiled, suddenly very tired.

“Thanks.”

There wasn’t really much more she could say. Furão took it for the affirmation it was, nodding quickly before backing away. Without a body around it, the door slid shut on its own. Alone again, she made her way around the room, running her hand lightly over the edge of the berth before pulling herself up. Even after all these years, she was still unused to thinking of the cold metal as a bed, and it took her a few moments to adjust her position before her backside rested comfortably.

Sari sat there a long time, looking out the window at the city and the world beyond, filled with cars and dirt and noise, and Bumblebee, somewhere, driving himself towards resolution.


End file.
